However, Henri’s is looking up, focused on our target.
“Stay here,” he instructs me. “I’ll be quick.”
Heart in my throat, I watch him begin his careful climb.
Suddenly, he slips and slides down the old tiles. Panic grips me. I grab onto the rope he’s attached to, anchoring it with my weight.
He secured it well,I remind myself.
But what if the knots don’t hold?
“Are you OK?” I yell, my voice laced with fear.
“I’m fine!” he shouts.
He regains his footing and pauses to steady himself. A moment later, he resumes his ascent, his movements measured. I watch him, ready to brace the rope again if needed. Every second feels like an eternity as he makes his way toward the peak.
As he reaches the weather vane, my breath catches in my throat.
Henri steadies himself against the roof. With an admirable focus, he begins to work on the weather vane. He meticulously unscrews, adjusts, and inspects to assess his progress in the light of his headlamp.Where does he draw on so much patience?Me, I’m about to burst! Every second feels like an eternity.
Finally, with a soft click, the weather vane is detached from its base. Henri maneuvers it into his backpack for the descent. The return journey down the roof is slow and smooth, and thankfully free of any missteps.
After we back through the hatch, we remove the harnesses in the attic before climbing down to the small room where I’d met Henri earlier. We’re about to settle at the table, but then he halts and knits his eyebrows, like he’s of two minds. A moment later, his brow relaxes.
He takes my hand and pulls me back to the door. “Let’s do this in my lucky room!”
We jog down a flight of stairs, march through a covered skyway, enter a wing of the château—I’m not sure which—and climb two floors. And voilà, we’re in his gran’s reading and sewing sanctuary!
I say a quick prayer.Please, let this be my lucky room, too!
“A bit stuffy here, isn’t it?” Henri strides to the window, opens it and lingers there, gazing out.
I chuckle. “You’re procrastinating, Monsieur de Bellay. Let’s do this!”
He returns to my side. “I’m nervous.”
That makes two of us.“You’ve hidden it well so far.”
“I wasn’t nervous until now.”
We sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor.
Henri takes the weather vane out of the backpack and places it between us. “Let’s see what secrets you’ve been hiding!”
The metal creaks gently as we turn the elegant horse in our hands, examining it. I run my fingers along its contours, feeling the intricate etchings of the horse’s body. Henri pulls a magnifying glass from the backpack he’s still strapped into. We both lean in and scrutinize the weather vane from tail to nose.
“Look at this,” Henri murmurs, pointing at something.
I gasp. Through the magnifying glass, I discover that the vane that looked to be single piece is actually an intricate assemblage of interlocking parts, expertly and seamlessly joined. I can see the subtle lines and contours that were invisible to the naked eye, hidden beneath the patina of time.
“The craftsmanship is impressive,” I say.
“I had no idea…” Henri murmurs. “And no MESS agent on the roof would’ve noticed this without such a close inspection.”
We work in tandem, as we separate and examine each segment, one by one. Legs, torso, tail, neck, head…
“Got something!” Henri exclaims.
